


Tell A Lie That Makes Me Want To Stay

by hallow_dangerous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallow_dangerous/pseuds/hallow_dangerous





	1. Chapter 1

Mary stood on a street corner in Notting Hill; waiting. She checked her messages for the tenth time at least - it was here Miss Adler had said to meet, wasn't it? She pulled her coat tighter round her shoulders against the wind. She hated London in November; so miserable and bitterly cold all the time. She wondered if she had made a mistake, moving here with John. She didn't like London at all really, it was always noisy, always dirty, and there was always something going on that Sherlock - and therefore John - felt the need to get involved with. She shook off the thought. She was too in love with John to grudge it really, but she lived for the Christmases and family occasions where she would be invited to Sherlock's parents' house in the country.

"Sorry I'm late. I had to see a man in the Portobello Road about some business he was going to take care of for me." She delicately wiped the smudged scarlet lipstick from the corner of her mouth as she approached Mary. "Have you got what I asked you for?" A sly smile broke out across her face as she searched Mary's expression for any clue as to what information she might have for her. "Hm. Typical CIA. I can't read you."

" _Ex_ CIA. And yes, I have." Replied Mary. "In a manner of speaking..."

Irene shot her a questioning look. "Meaning?"

"Yes I have the information you wanted. No I don't think anyone suspects anything. It's just... It might not be what you want to hear."

 

Sherlock shut the door of 221B with a slam. He heard Mrs Hudson fussing about disturbing the neighbours but as usual he didn't care what the neighbours thought of him. "Bad day, love?" he heard Molly call from upstairs. She could always tell if he was in a bad mood, though today it was more obvious than most. He slumped down in his leather chair and started playing the violin. Molly sighed. She was used to this, she thought; he won't talk for days now, then he'll come up with something or find a new case and he'll be normal again. Normal for him anyway.

"Molly?"

"Hm?" She looked up from the postmortem she was typing up on her laptop.

"Are you still working?"

"I have to get this done, I-"

"You've been at it for hours."

"Sherlock, drop it." Molly sighed heavily, massaging her temples. She knew she was working too hard, of course she did; she had huge dark circles under her eyes from staying up into the small hours almost every night to finish writing up her day's work. It had to be done though, and if it had to be done she had to keep working.

"Molly..." No response. "Molly! We had a deal!" She closed the laptop then, moving it away from her. Tears welled up in Molly's eyes; she knew she'd been caught out. She hadn't stopped working since he'd left, what, four hours ago? She could feel a tension headache coming on and she had not eaten since lunchtime.

"Come on. We're going out."

"I'm not in the mood, Sherlock."

"Tough. You, me; fish and chips. Now."

 

Irene unlocked the front door to her somewhat dingy apartment, a stark contrast to the luxury house Mary remembered she used to live in. She saw the peeling paisley wallpaper, faded and grey from years of neglect, and wondered why Irene hadn't chosen something at least a bit more appealing than this. There was a slightly damp smell to the place, she noticed, and the furniture was covered in scuffs and what appeared to be nail marks.

"Sorry it's not as flashy as the last place; I'm trying to keep my head down. My clients don't seem to mind much." She explained. "Kate?" A young woman appeared from what Mary could only assume was a bedroom. "Oh good, you're up. How are you feeling?" Mary noticed a small nick on her cheek and there was a nasty bruise developing on the side of her face, partly concealed by heavy make up.

"Much better, Miss Adler." Replied the woman, turning away from Mary to conceal the red mark on her cheek. Irene Adler made it a rule that clients do not know what goes on between her and Kate behind closed doors.

"Good..." Crooned Irene. "Now run along and make us some tea, would you?"

"Certainly Miss Adler."

"I'm glad she's come round." Said Irene once Kate was out of earshot. "She... Got herself rather carried away last night and ended up unconscious."

Mary nodded, hoping she'd leave here tonight without some form of concussion. She had to be honest, Irene did scare her sometimes.

"Anyway, have a seat, take your coat off." She said, gesturing towards a rather moth eaten velour sofa. Mary obliged, removing her leather gloves and placing them in the pockets of her thick winter coat.

"Oh," remarked Irene, spotting the gold wedding band on Mary's finger, "naughty girl. Does John know you're here?"

"No." Said Mary firmly. "And he doesn't need to. Understood? I could have you put away for the rest of your life if people knew you were still alive. God knows how you did it; that terror cell should have wiped you out years ago, so you keep it zipped, clear? John can't know."

"Crystal clear." Replied Irene with an impish grin, biting her lower lip and reaching for a leather riding crop. She teased the end down Mary's cheek, then along her jawline. "What my clients do outside of here is none of my business. My business is what my clients know. So Mrs. Watson, are you going to tell me what you know?" 


	2. Chapter 2

Molly chewed the last morsel of fried fish before discarding her wrapper on the floor next to Sherlock's. She curled up on the sofa and laid her head in his lap.

"Why?"

"You're comfy. And I'm tired."

"Fine." He sighed, not really annoyed. It felt good knowing that he'd finally got her to have some time to herself and although he'd never admit it, he was secretly pleased with himself. He picked up his violin, thankful he had left it within arm's reach so he didn't have to disturb Molly. He placed the violin on his shoulder and started playing a soft melody, his fingers resting lightly on the strings creating long, sweet notes. Molly listened as he played, her eyelids beginning to get heavy as she let her mind wander. She stirred slightly when he stopped playing, but she was too tired to ask him to keep playing. He placed the violin back against the sofa and carefully slid his arms underneath her to pick her up. Molly sleepily wrapped her arms around his neck for stability as he stood up, quietly carrying her into their bedroom and gently laying her down on the bed. She fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, so soon even not to notice Sherlock climb in beside her moments later and pull the covers over them both, grazing her cheek with a light kiss goodnight.

 

John paced up and down the living room. She said she'd be home by ten. She _promised_. What time was it now? _Don't look at the clock, you'll only make it worse._ 11:24. He began to panic. What if something had happened to her? She could be hurt, or worse... Images flashed up in his mind; fleeting, but tortuously vivid. Of Mary, lying in an alleyway, or in the crumpled body of a car, barely recognisable; and blood. So much blood. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn't stop it. Mary never did this, she was always on time, there must be something wrong. What if her old life had finally caught up with her? Magnussen was dead, sure, but her victims had families, allies, maybe assassins of their own... That's when the gunfire started ringing in his ears, and he was back in Afghanistan again, back to the war and the soldiers and the heat and the gunfire and the noise, the noise, the _noise_... 

"Daddy?" A little girl appeared at the door in a pink nightdress, clutching a dog-eared old teddy bear in her left hand. "Daddy, I had a bad dream."

Hearing his daughter's voice brought John back to reality. He sat against the sofa trying to slow his breathing. "Me too darling. It's alright, it's not real. Come and give daddy a hug." He pulled her onto his lap and held her close.

"I didn't know grown ups could get bad dreams."

"Of course we do. We get scared sometimes just the same as everyone else. But look, you helped me to stop being scared and I helped you too." He stood up and pulled her into his arms. "Now let's get you back to bed, shall we?"

 

"So _Mrs_ Watson, are you ready?" Irene tightened the straps holding Mary's wrists to the posts of the bed.

"Yes Miss Adler."

"Well, are you going to give me this information, or am I going to have to take it from you?" Irene crawled up the bed on all fours, her arms and legs either side of Mary's body. As she drew level with Mary's face, she smiled; her sparkling white teeth glinting against her matte, blood red lipstick. Mary leaned up towards Irene to kiss her, and Irene pressed a finger to her lips. "Naughty." Scolded Irene. "You haven't told me anything yet."

"Sherlock is still in Baker Street."

"Ooh good." Said Irene, rewarding Mary with a teasingly light kiss. "Anything else?" Irene ran the very tip of her fingernail up the inside of Mary's thigh, then back down, then again, letting her finger go slightly higher up this time before moving away again. Each time she did this she got closer and closer to Mary's clitoris, eventually coming to rest on it. "I'm not moving until you tell me!" She said in a singsong voice.

Mary braced herself. She knew Irene wouldn't want to hear this. "Molly Hooper, you know the girl from the morgue? Well, they're an item. And... She's moved into 221B."

"The flat upstairs?"

"No. They told Mrs Hudson they wouldn't be needing the second bedroom."

"I see." Irene removed her fingers abruptly, untying the straps holding Mary to the bad and throwing a pile of clothes at her.

"We had a deal!"

"Get out! Just leave!"

Mary got dressed, seething with rage. She'd risked everything by coming here and telling her that. If Sherlock knew Irene was back... And John, if he knew she'd been visiting Miss Adler like this, their marriage would be in pieces. All this risk and for what? A bit of foreplay and not a lot else. She left the apartment as quickly as possible, slamming the door hard behind her and stepping out onto the street to hail a cab.

 

"Well Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!" Read John in his best attempt at a fairy godmother voice. He'd been reading for the last half an hour and he was really hoping Elizabeth would fall asleep soon. Just then he heard the key turn in the lock on the front door. _Mary._ He kissed his daughter goodnight, wrapping one of her mousy curls around his finger, and went downstairs.

"Where have you been? I've been so worried, you said you'd be home two hours ago."

"Yeah, Sharon wasn't very well after the meal; food poisoning we think, so I took her back home and made sure she's alright. Sorry if I made you worry. Nurse's luck, huh? I get stuck dealing with the vomit."

John felt suddenly foolish for being so panicked. She wasn't horribly injured, she was helping a friend. Like he'd done on countless occasions for Sherlock; staying up though the night to make sure he didn't overdose; and Mary was always understanding, not once had she complained when he didn't come home.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know... I-" he couldn't tell her about the panic attack. She was doing someone a good turn, it wouldn't be fair to make her worry like that.

"You what?"

"Nothing." He lied. "Lizzy had another nightmare. I just wish you'd been there, you're so much better at this than I am."

"She's a kid, John. All kids have nightmares."

John's words to his daughter echoes in his head: _grown ups have nightmares too._


	3. Chapter 3

"Miss Adler?" Kate knocked on the door. "Irene?" She walked into the bedroom. They had another client coming at 9:00. She needed to be ready. "You've been crying."

"It's Sherlock, he's living with that girl from the mortuary. I thought I had him, when I was sending him all those texts; he enjoyed it, I know he did, it broke his heart to give me away to his brother. I tried so hard, he even came back to save me; after I betrayed him like that. I betrayed him and he still came back. I thought he was in love with me; that I was the only woman he ever loved. He knew I was in love with him, of course he did, he knows everything and..." She broke off into fresh tears, sobbing into her hands. Kate sat down gently by the side of the bed.

"He did love you, you know. He kept the phone with all your texts; still reads them sometimes apparently. But its been five years. He knew he could never see you again, and I guess he's moved on."

 

Molly yawned, rubbing her eyes. She turned over to find that Sherlock was already up; no surprise there, he always got up early, but there was sunlight streaming through a chink in the curtains and she sat bolt upright, suddenly panicked. She should be at work. She threw on some clothes as quickly as possible and ran to the kitchen. Sherlock was there with his microscope.

"You're in a hurry."

"I'm late!"

"No you're not. I called your boss. You've got the flu." The faintest hint of a smug smile spread across his face, gone as quickly as it had come, so quick, Molly wasn't even sure she had even seen it.

"No, I haven't. I can't believe you would-"

"You needed sleep. He said Carol - or was it Karen? - could cover your shift today."

"Ugh but Karen's hopeless, she- never mind. Thanks. I appreciate it." She sat at the table opposite him and opened her laptop.

"Put that down."

She sighed. "I'm just going to see if John posted anything about that case, with the jewellery."  
She logged on to John's blog; nothing new, so she settled for rereading the article about his daughter. Was that really three years ago? She smiled at the pictures of John and Mary with a beautiful baby in their arms.

"You're reading about Lizzy again."

"How could you possibly-"

"Your smile, gives you away every time." He said, partly closing her laptop to see her better. "Let's go somewhere, shall we?"

"And if someone from work sees me?"

"We go into the nearest pharmacy and buy some Lemsip or something."

She shrugged. There were worse ways to spend a day off.

 

Irene stood over her newest client, brandishing a whip. She flicked her wrist and there was a loud crack. The man winced as the tip caught his cheek and a trickle of blood began to run towards the corner of his mouth.

"Now, about the prime minister," she began, "what exactly are you here to tell me?"

The man hesitated. "He... Um, well..."

"Spit it out." She said, bringing the whip down with a crack.

"That Sherlock Holmes bloke, the one in all the papers? He's working on a case for the PM at the moment."

Irene stopped. "What? How did you...?"

"Last time I was here, I heard you and Kate talking. I recognised the name."

"Well then," said Irene, running a long red fingernail down the side of his face, suddenly much more enthusiastic, "someone needs to be punished for listening in on my private conversations."

 

"Come in!" Called Mary as John knocked on the bathroom door. She was stood in her underwear at the mirror, careful to make sure that the small tattoo at the base of her spine stayed covered. He kissed her cheek as he walked past into the shower.

"How did you do that?" He asked, pointing to a large bruise on Mary's hip, courtesy of Miss Adler.

"I walked into a table at work." She replied smoothly, used to coming up with an alibi on the fly. She watched John carefully to see if he believed her. He seemed indifferent so she went back to applying her makeup. John turned the shower on, letting the hot water wash away the visions from the night before. He knew he should tell Mary about his panic attack, but somehow, he just couldn't. She seemed distant lately and he didn't want to make things worse by bringing it up. Besides, she'd only tell him to go back to that psychiatrist; as if he needed two people in his life that can read him like a book. He finished in the shower and got dressed for work, towelling his hair dry as he went downstairs. Mary and Lizzie were already at the table, finishing their breakfast. He put some bread in the toaster and picked his daughter up while he waited for it to toast.

"So how is my pretty princess this morning?"

She giggled. "I'm going shopping with mummy today."

"Ooh very nice."

"She said if I'm good we can have an ice cream afterwards."

John laughed. "I say the same thing to Sherlock when I take him shopping." He said, only half joking. He grabbed his toast out the toaster and started to butter it, thinking he would have to eat it on the way to work. He buttoned his coat and headed for the door. "See you later you two. Liz, look after mummy for me." He said, winking at Mary. Once she heard the door click, Mary picked up her phone.

"Hi, Miss Adler?" She said, a small smile spreading across her face. "Are you free tomorrow night? Trouble in paradise." Her plan was in place. She and Irene had a deal. If Irene wasn't going to play fair, neither was Mary.


	4. Chapter 4

"A cappuccino and...?" Molly turned to Sherlock.

"Black coffee. And milk on the side.” 

The barista nodded. Molly watched as the barista measured out the coffee, slipping a small piece of paper under the cup. Molly caught Sherlock's eye. He nodded, taking their tray and leading Molly to a table outside under the red striped awning overlooking a small garden with a wrought iron fence. 

"Homeless network." He explained. "Or rather she used to be. Picked herself up; proved to be very bad for my work so..." He gestured towards the cafe. Molly laughed. How very Sherlock. Resourceful, clever; exploiting the anonymity of the invisible for information. She sipped her coffee, studying Sherlock's face, his angular features, the way his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes focused on nothing in particular; deep in thought. Molly carefully lifted Sherlock's cup, where he had replaced the paper once he had read it.

_Adler back in London. Last seen: Portobello Road w/ unidentified female._

Sherlock sighed, taking his first; and apparently last sip of coffee. He scribbled something on the back of the paper and folded it inside a £5 note. They left without a word, Molly struggling to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. She couldn't help thinking that Irene being back would only spell trouble for Sherlock.

 

“Mummy, How do they get the trains down here?”

Mary sighed. “I don’t know sweetheart.” She replied, trying to be patient with her daughter.

“Does Uncle Sherlock know? I bet he does, he knows _everything._ ”

“Yes, I’m sure he does, now come on, I want to be home soon, I’m going out tonight.”

“Do I still get ice cream?” Asked Elizabeth, looking up at her mother with such concern that in spite of herself, Mary laughed.

“Of course. Only if you get a move on though!”

Mary guided her daughter into the middle carriage of the train and pulled her onto her lap, thankful that Lizzy was old enough to not need a pushchair anymore as the train was filling up. She wondered what she should tell John, she worried he’d be suspicious if she went out two nights in a row. She worried about Liz too, the dark circles under her eyes evidence of her restless nights of late. She couldn't go back to Miss Adler’s tonight. Liz and John needed her, and besides, she hadn’t thought about exactly _what_ the trouble in paradise was yet.

 

Molly nipped into the apartment just as Sherlock slammed the door.

“Sherlock…”

He ignored her, picking up his violin. She carried on regardless.

“Sherlock, her being back… It doesn't change anything, right?”

He began drawing his bow back and forth across the strings, a familiar tune filling the flat; chilling Molly to the bone as if the ghosts of Miss Adler’s past visits to the flat were wandering the room in that very moment. The music started to build until she couldn't take it anymore.

“I know you loved her!” 

Sherlock stopped abruptly. The silence in the flat was almost worse than the music; the weight of years of unspoken words bearing down on them both. Molly watched as Sherlock set down his violin and folded himself down in his armchair. 

“Sherlock, I-“

“I didn't love her.”

“But-“

“No.”

Sherlock looked Molly in the eyes. She could see him processing what he was going to say next; meticulously calculating his next move.

“ _Did_ you love her?”

“No!”

“Then why all this? The music, the moping, the nearly slamming the door in my face? _Talk_ to me Sherlock! I know this isn't what you do, but for God’s sake I need to know what all this is about.”

“We were… intellectual equals. Well, not quite, but she was- _is_ clever.”

“But you wouldn't write music for just anyone.”

“Molly…”

“No.”

“Molly, please. I wasn't in love with Irene.”

Molly flinched. _He used her first name._ She focused now on his ice blue eyes, searching his face for any clue as to the truth. As always, he could hide everything. She sat down opposite him, desperately trying to fight back tears. ‘Intellectual equals’. She felt inferior suddenly, Sherlock’s comment a stark reminder that she would never quite be good enough for him.

“Sherlock, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m going to sleep at John and Mary’s tonight. I need to think.”

 

Irene checked her phone again, cursing Mary for not calling her back. ‘Trouble in paradise’, is that all she was getting? She tried the number one more time, the phone ringing once, twice, three times… 

“Hello?”

“Mary, about what you said…” Irene crooned in her softest, most sultry voice. “Trouble in paradise? Naughty girl, keeping me waiting like this… What does it mean? Lovers’ tiff? Or more?”

“Irene, can we talk later? I’ll be over in a bit I promise.” 

“What’s keeping you? Come on, Mary, I’m so looking forward to hearing what you have to tell me… I’ll repay you for your trouble of course.”

“I’m just dropping Liz home. Give me half an hour.” She sounded impatient; there was an edge to her voice and Irene could hear a small child in the background.

“I look forward to-“ 

Irene heard a beep, then silence as Mary hung up.

“Kate? Mary’s coming over again. I need your help getting ready.” Kate appeared in the doorway, disappointedly pulling a cardigan over her low cut dress.

“Certainly, madam.”

“How’s your head?”

“I’ll survive. I’ll do as you say next time.”

“Good girl. Now, red or black?” Asked Irene, holding two dresses towards Kate. Kate took both and hung them back up.

“Flesh.”


	5. Chapter 5

John sighed as he heard the doorbell ring. He had only just got in from work and it was only ever Mary’s friends who came round anyway. He had just decided not to answer it when it rang again, the shrill sound of the bell accompanied by knocking. John heaved himself out of his armchair, ready to dispense of any cold-callers. As he trudged into the hallway, the silhouette in the frosted glass panel showed a familiar figure standing on the other side of the door. John beamed as he opened the door to let Molly in.

“Molly! How nice to see you! And… Sherlock?“

“Not here!”

“Okay..” Said John, utterly bemused not even thirty seconds into the conversation. “Um, tea?”

“Wine?”

 

Sherlock stood alone in the flat, his deft fingers no longer playing Irene’s song, but something Molly had as yet not heard before. Light, playful; almost… singsong. Truly composed with love. He paused to write down a few notes on his sheet music before starting up again. He considered what Molly had said as he played, about him being in love with Irene. He had always denied it, never letting on how he really felt. Yes, he loved her, she was sharp, intelligent, fascinating. Was he _in love_ with her? No. He was in love with Molly. Irene was an obsession, a passion. Molly was, _is_ his whole world. A tear slipped down Sherlock’s cheek as he continued to play, he knew it would take a long time for the air to clear now Irene was back; and he had by now worked out that if she was back, she would be trying to get to him.

 

“Daddy! We’re home!”

Elizabeth could hear voices in the kitchen. She poked her head round the door to see Molly at the kitchen table holding a mug of coffee. She ran over and hugged her.

“Molly!”

Molly chuckled. “Hi Lizzy.” She said, pulling the little girl onto her lap, which had turned out to be harder than she had expected. “Blimey, you’re getting so big now!”

“Daddy says its because I eat all my vegetables.” 

Molly caught John’s eye to see him smirking.

“ _And_ Uncle Sherlock said its true so it is. Wait, where _is_ Uncle Sherlock?”

John gave his daughter a warning look.

“Molly and Sherlock had a little argument sweetheart. She's going to stay here tonight.” Mary’s face fell, though she quickly corrected it so as not to arouse suspicion.

Liz shrugged and slid off Molly’s lap, pulling the door shut behind her as she went to go play upstairs. Mary made herself a cup of tea as Molly filled her in on the details of her argument with Sherlock; only half listening as she began typing a message, her phone just out of sight, a technique she had perfected in her previous line of work. A technique that definitely came in handy when her sharp-eyed husband and curious daughter were around.

_Can’t come over tonight. Molly staying here. They've had a fight. Sounds serious, she thinks Sherlock is still in love with you. I’ll be in touch._

“Oh crap,” said Molly, “Sherlock’s going to forget to feed Toby.”

“Toby will be fine, love,” assured Mary, emerging from the kitchen with her mug of tea and a plate of biscuits. “He’s a cat. They're tough.”

"Besides," John rested his hand on Molly’s arm. “I’m pretty sure he’s a lot better at taking care of himself than Sherlock is, and one night won’t do him too much harm. If you don’t mind me saying, I don't think living in such close proximity to Mrs Hudson has done his waistline much good.”

“I could say the same to you.” Joked Mary, making Molly laugh despite herself. “Have you got work tomorrow?” She asked Molly. “You can borrow something to wear if you need it.”

Molly gave her a weak smile. “Thanks Mary, I just didn’t know where else to go.”

 

Miss Adler reclined on a burgundy velvet chaise, every inch of her body on show, the luxuriously rich colour of the fabric accentuating the milky colour of her flawless skin. 

“Well, that was a waste.” She remarked, placing her phone down on a side table. “All this dressing up and she’s not coming.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that Miss Adler…” Kate hesitated, “Are you upset?”

A wicked grin crept its way onto Irene’s plum coloured lips, leaving Kate completely baffled.

“Oh not at all… I knew Sherlock was still in love with me. Turns out Molly knows too.”

 

Sherlock sent Molly another frantic text. Then another. One more. Frustrated with himself, he threw down the phone. His armchair creaked in protest as he threw himself down onto it, drawing his knees up to his chest the way a frightened child might. Having heard the argument, Mrs Hudson crept into the room.

“I brought you some tea, love.”

“I don’t want tea!” Snapped Sherlock, startling Mrs Hudson.

Used to sudden outbursts, she composed herself fairly quickly. “I’ll leave it here then. Don’t let it get cold.”

Sherlock’s eyes drifted momentarily to the fireplace. He hadn't smoked in months; now more than he had been in a long time, he was desperate for a fix of something stronger than tea.

“Nice try, Sherlock. Your cigarettes aren’t there. I hid them.”


	6. Chapter 6

Molly woke up to a crash followed by words only a soldier would dare to repeat. She pushed herself up to sit on the sofa, stretching; trying to ease the crick in her neck from her poor night’s sleep. 

“Oh bloody hell, Molly;” John exclaimed. “I forgot you were there. Coffee?” He added sheepishly, retreating back into the safety of the kitchen.

“I’d love one, thanks.” She replied, yawning sleepily.

“You okay? I know Sherlock can be a dick but… I guess he means well.” 

“Hmmm…” Molly mused. “I guess he’s just difficult at times. And with Adler back in London I just- I don't know.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” John handed her a steaming mug and Molly took a sip. John took his cup and sat in the large easy chair opposite Molly. _Some things never change._ She thought to herself.

“No, thanks.”

“So, you said Adler’s back in London? You don’t mean… I mean surely he-” 

“Yup.” She replied. “And that’s why I stormed off last night. One of his homeless network told him about her and he didn't say anything all the way home and…” Molly stopped herself before she got anymore worked up, hastily brushing a tear off her cheek. John pretended not to notice and waited patiently for her to compose herself before he spoke again.

“Do you… um… has he…?” John sighed with relief as Mary walked into the lounge, Elizabeth on her hip.

“Molly! Hi!” Lizzy flopped down onto the sofa next to Molly.

“Hi sweetheart,” laughed Molly, “sleep well?”

“Yeah… I didn't the other night though. I had a bad dream. I was in this dark house and there was a monster and…” Molly zoned out as Liz rambled on about ghosts and monsters. 

“Did you know?” John asked Mary as she bustled about the kitchen making breakfast for Elizabeth.

“Know what, dear?”

“That, um… Adler woman. Back in London. I always thought-“

“Wasn’t she killed?”

 

Perfectly manicured blood red nails hesitated on the brass knocker on the door of 221B. Irene had been so sure this was what she wanted up until this point; now she almost couldn't bear to make this real. She wanted to see Sherlock so badly after so long but now, when she was so close, she couldn’t bear to make it real; to know that he despised her in the end. Meeting Sherlock would be accepting defeat, accepting that her feelings were not in any way returned, and that Sherlock will never love her. One thing a dominatrix never accepts is defeat.

 

Humming quietly to himself, Sherlock’s fingers played an invisible violin in his lap as he sat in the back of a cab. He knew where Molly was; just like he always knew, and of course he knew that buying her flowers to make up for the stupid things he says generally didn’t work anymore. He stopped the cab at the end of John’s street and made his way to the door.

“Christ’s sake! Who’s at the door at this time of the morning? John! Can you get that?”

John yanked the door open, recognising who it was immediately.

“Sherlock, I don’t really think-“

“Out the way, John. I’m here to apologise… and bring Molly a friend; in case she doesn't want to come home yet.” He winced as a black and white tom clawed his way out of Sherlock’s coat. Toby leapt gracefully to the floor and stalked off with a haughty tail flick. 

“Hi baby!” She cooed in the adjacent room, “How did you get here?”

Sherlock stepped silently into the doorway, waiting for Molly to notice him. She felt Toby stiffen at the prospect of being shoved back into a hot, stuffy coat for another half an hour. Half-knowing who might be responsible for the sudden appearance of her beloved cat, Molly hesitantly turned around. Sherlock tried his best to look sheepish. 

“Hi.”

“Hello Molly.”

“Um… I’ll give you two a minute.” Muttered John, shuffling out of the room.

Molly stood up, trying to square up with Sherlock; falling short by at least a foot. Sherlock smirked and lifted Molly to stand on the sofa so she was just taller than him. 

“Better?” He asked, feigning innocence.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” He replied; then pulled Molly towards him, gently pressing his lips to hers in a soft, loving kiss. She resisted for a moment, then allowed herself to be held by him, to feel his lips on hers again. She worked her lips against his, feeling the soft pressure as she forgot about everything around her. All that mattered was Sherlock; and only Sherlock.

“Okay maybe I-“

“Molly, I’m sorry. I don’t say it very often but I really, truly love you.”

“Sherlock-“ 

“You’re my everything, you're all I want for the rest of my life and I want you to know that. I came to tell you that Irene’s wit and deductive reasoning could never compare to your beautiful, kind heart; your modest way of being so, so clever in so many ways. Please come home to Baker Street. It- um, it isn't the same… without you.”


End file.
